


1941

by ProjectOrthus



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 1940, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Romance, WW2, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-19 03:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19348177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProjectOrthus/pseuds/ProjectOrthus
Summary: After the church incident, Aziraphale and Crowley go back to the bookshop, where they have a drink and talk about the agreement, the future, and who the “company” is in A.Z. Fell & co.





	1941

The bookshop never got bombed. Nor, for that matter, did the buildings within a two-block radius. The planes seemed to avoid that general area, even if it was put on their maps. The residents of the area were intensely grateful, many crediting it as an Act of God. It wasn’t. It was an Act of Aziraphale, who had too many valuable books in the shop to risk it being bombed. It was a miracle the planes didn’t fly that way. A miracle Aziraphale was quite proud of, in fact.   
Crowley took off his shoes as soon as he entered the shop, sitting heavily down in a chair and massaging the soles of his feet. They were covered in angry red blisters, and were smoking lightly. Aziraphale locked the door to the shop and put down the books on a nearby table, then poured two glasses of whiskey and sat down beside Crowley, nervously eyeing his feet. Crowley gratefully took the whiskey, downed it in one go, then handed the glass back to Aziraphale, who refilled it.   
“That was a stupid thing to do, you know,” said Aziraphale. “Walking into a church like that. Practically suicide.”  
“It wasn’t that bad,” Crowley said, wincing as he put his feet on the floor. “I couldn’t have you embarrassed like that. Besides, those nazis deserved to die. And bombing a church will look good on my records,” he took a gulp of whiskey. “You’re welcome, by the way.”   
Aziraphale tried to glare at Crowley, but failed. He sighed, and raised his glass to his lips. He lowered it. His brain was working through what to say, and it wasn’t doing a very good job. “I’m grateful,” he said, finally. “That really was very kind of you.”  
“It’s the least I could do,” Crowley said with a smile, “after everything you do for me, it’s only fair.”  
“But you do plenty for me,” Aziraphale pointed out.   
“Ah, well, then I suppose it was because I like you,” Crowley said with a grin, “we’ve been friends for thousands of years, angel. It’s not just an agreement anymore.”  
Aziraphale smiled, then lowered his head, attempting to hide a blush. “I quite like you, too,” he said. “for what it’s worth.”  
Crowley raised his glass. “To the agreement,” he said, “where it’s brought us.”  
Aziraphale clinked his glass against Crowley’s. “To the agreement,”  
They drank, then sat in silence for a good minute. Crowley could hold a cool, smooth silence for as long as he wanted to. It was a skill he had honed back when he dabbled in politics in ancient Rome. He liked to see how long he could hold someone’s attention before they got impatient. He liked to create an air of being about to speak, so the audience was left in suspended, expectant silence. It was almost too easy with Aziraphale. He once held the angel’s unwavering attention for a solid hour before speaking, back in the early 1900s. But Crowley got bored of it quickly this time.   
“Have you ever thought of doing something other than the bookshop?” He asked Aziraphale, who quickly snapped out of the trance he seemed to be in.  
“What?” Asked the angel. “No! No, I quite like the bookshop. It’s a good human profession, and it’s nice, keeping human history in one place. I feel like I have a purpose.”  
“If the shop is called A.Z. Fell & Co,” Crowley mused. “Who’s the co? The company? You’re the only person who works here.”  
Aziraphale sat on that for a bit. He furrowed his brow. “Well,” he began. Then stopped. He crossed his hands in his lap and stared at the window. “You’re the company,” he said, after a considerable period of time.   
“Me?” Crowley snorted. “Why me?”  
“I never have anyone else here,” Aziraphale said.   
“What, you don’t have any other friends?”   
Aziraphale struggled for a moment with how to answer this. Then his eyes fell on Crowley’s still-smoking feet, and he hurriedly got up. “Let me get you some water for that,” He said.   
“You’re telling me,” Crowley said, “that you’ve been on Earth for over 6000 years, and you haven't made one human friend.” He watched Aziraphale hurry into the bookshop’s small kitchenette, and listened to the angel fill a large bin with cold tap water. He briskly walked back into the room, setting the bin of water in front of Crowley. A few dollops landed near his feet. Crowley quickly drew them away. “Oi, angel, what if that was holy water?”  
“Why on Earth would it be holy water?” asked Aziraphale, “that would kill you!”  
“Exactly,” Crowley eyed the bin suspiciously, “I can’t be too careful.”  
“Well, it’s not,” Aziraphale sat back down and picked up his glass, “now put your feet in, they’re smoking rather worryingly,”  
“Your fault,” muttered Crowley, lowering his feet into the bin. They hissed as they touched the water, and Crowley let out a sigh of relief, “oh that’s so much better.”  
“You really must be more careful,” said Aziraphale.   
“You were the one who got yourself in that mess in the first place,” Crowley pointed out, “I won’t always be able to come save you. You have to learn to not get yourself killed.”  
“I’m still on my first body,” Aziraphale said, “I think I’m doing rather well,”   
Crowley sniffed the whiskey. “Do you have anything stronger than this?”  
“Unless you want to drink rubbing alcohol, no,” said Aziraphale.  
“That would do nicely,” Crowley put down his whiskey, “what time is it?”  
Aziraphale checked his watch. “A tad past two am.”  
“Too early for breakfast?”   
“Much too early,” said Aziraphale.  
“I’m not spending the morning sitting in a bookshop,” Crowley said, getting to his feet, “let’s go. The night’s young.”  
“But we just sat down!” protested Aziraphale, who liked to have at least an hour to recuperate after a near-death experience.   
Crowley held out a hand. “I know a bar that’s open all night. You can sit down there,”   
Aziraphale begrudgingly took the hand and allowed himself to be helped up. Crowley put back on his shoes, and the pair made their way out of the bookshop, out into the blitz.


End file.
